Stormborn
by Spirit of the Shrine
Summary: She had thought she was prepared for anything. When it comes to magic, an all-consuming force, knowledge was power. It was a fuel running underneath, a subtle being, and she was the catalyst, an unnamed factor in a ever-shifting sands of deceit and inner plots. Danger lurks in the darkness underneath, and the sands of time are running out. The end has never felt so close.
1. Time Reversed

**Author's Note**: Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to _'The Sands of Time._' This is the first part of the story, called _'Stormborn,' _which will hopefully be the first story of three which I am planing.

**Summary**: Magic was all consuming. Knowledge was power. It was a fuel which ran underneath, a subtle force harnessed for something far more dangerous than what the world was ready to face. For Hermione Granger, magic was a catalyst which would draw her into the darkness which exists and the light which threatened to drown it out._  
_

**Warnings**: This is a Tom Riddle/Hermione Granger story. For those who are familiar with me, my other two stories feature Harry and Tom, but this is another pairing that I enjoy. I do tend to stray away from the 'original' concepts of Harry Potter, and, as such, I tend to twist things around for my own enjoyment. I like to think of it as a writing exercise, and it is one I enjoy immensely. So, yes, I don't always follow the rules, and I'm not afraid to change things so that they fit my own needs. I also tend to add darker aspects to my stories. You have been warned.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter. This will not be repeated in following installments.

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**Rating**: **T**

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She hadn't _meant _to do it.

It just happened. Like a storm opening up, the magic lashed back. She had felt it, like the turning cycles of the moon. She heard it, roaring, like a wave crashing upon the shore. She saw it as it lit up the sky, the heavens an eerie dance of colors unnamed - sapphires and emeralds, amber and gold, silvers and amethyst gems. The Department of Mysteries was a name she did not take for granted; _magic _wasn't to be taken for granted. It wasn't titled as such just for the appeal, and she silently cursed her raven-haired friend for running head first into this place without so much as a 'how-do-you-do.' Instead, he charged in and left the rest of them scrambling after him.

Hermione weaved between the spells, brow furrowed, before casting down one Death Eater. She swept her gaze over the duelers, looking for her friends, and cursed under her breath when another leapt out at her. A shielding spell, followed by a disarming spell, gave her the footwork she needed to get around the large Death Eater. In the distance, she saw Malfoy dueling one of the Order members; she turned her attention away.

_'Think, Hermes, think!' _The voice hissed in the back of her mind, and she gave a sharp curse to a Death Eater in her way. _Speed and good-luck? Unlikely!_

She whirled between two wizards, and their two spells hit each other. They crumbled to the ground, eyes lifeless and bodies cold. She forced the image out of her thoughts as she dove into the fight, one spell escaping her before a shield was forged to block another's. She dunked between two doors, mentally eyeing the various blueprints and maps she had studied a year prior when she had found it laying innocently on Arthur's table in the Burrow. She was not suspecting that she would collide with a black-robed, red-eyed man when she sprinted around a corner.

Forced to a halt, their bodies hitting the floor, she swore under her breath as she rolled and leapt to her feet. Her blood froze when she saw the man several feet from her, eyes narrowed, and flexed her fingers as the pocket-watch around her next gave off one, sharp hiss of sound. She was running out of time. The Dark Lord, however, stepped forward; a jet of green light cut through the air.

She hit the ground rolling, and then she was under and behind him. She didn't turn. She ran. _Merlin bless the children I grew up with._

She was light, movements fluid, as she raced through the corridor. She was not expecting a red jet of light, nor Sirius's shocked outcry when she soared through the air between him and the crazy witch he was dueling.

There was pain, and then there was nothing.

**~.O.o.O.o.O.~**

She was drowning.

Water roared in her ears. Singing drifted around her. Flashes of green and red were distorted in the darkness, and the sounds of anguished screams came and went in a wave of uncertain bursts of sound. There was light, but all she felt was shadow and darkness and a steady warmth that wrapped around her shivering, pale form. There was only silence, and there was only magic. One could not exist without the other. Yet, as she drifted through the darkness, the light above her getting farther and farther away, there was chaos.

Pain danced through her skin as surely as it ran rampant underneath; her chest burned, and she could feel the flesh hissing with anger as the heat continued to build. Her arm screamed with pain, the skin splitting as if a knife was carving itself into her skin. Her back pulsed, her spine creaking, and, deep within her, her magic was coiled and lashing out until it cut through her flesh and bones.

Then there was air.

She felt her back hit the ground, felt her eyes burning, and, as her fingers bit into the ground, she felt damp grass instead of cold stone as her nails bit through the ground into damp, fertile soil. She gasped, eyes wild and tears threatening to fall, as she stared up at a dark sky with a moon nearing its peak in its cycle. A week, at most, until it was in its fully glory. Stars glowed, carefree, above her instead of the inky darkness of the Department of Mysteries.

_What...what..._Hermione's eyes closed, and she felt her body shudder as a cool wind swept across her skin. _Where am I?_

She sat up, her hair tumbling around her in thick, untamed waves. Her limbs protested the movement, and, as she scanned herself for injuries, she noted how her clothes were nearly falling apart. She pressed her hand to her side, and her skin came away stained and angry. Blood. She was bleeding. Swallowing, her gaze snapping upward when she heard a thunderous crack shatter the silent, she unsteadily rose to her feet. Had one of the Death Eaters followed her? Had they somehow grabbed onto her, and brought her here?

_No, _she told herself. _They would be with me. But who just arrived?_

"Kira!" The voice was strained, and, as she stumbled, Hermione felt her brows furrow in confusion. She could hear movement, hear the sound of wood snapping underfoot. Again the name was shouted to the winds. Leaning against the tree, she saw lights coming in her direction, blinding and bright, before an elderly woman came around a tree. Shock cut across the woman's face before she was at her side, taking her arm, and murmuring in her ear, "Sweet Merlin, Kira, I thought I lost you. Come. Come! The school is not far."

The elderly woman pulled her away from her tree, and Hermione stumbled as twisted roots caught her ankles. It took a moment to notice her feet were bare, the skin darkened by mud and stained with rivulets of crimson. It took her a moment to get her bearings, and, when she did, she saw this dark woodland for what it really was - the Forbidden Forest. She was back at Hogwarts, somehow, and the events prior to her arrival bore no compatibility to _how _she came to be at the school.

It did not take long until they were out of the forest. Another person rushed to their side, and they spoke in hushed voices in a tongue she did not know. Yet, somehow, the words twisted and stilted in the backdrops of her mind - _'...ambushed...injured...moon madness...he will help. He must...' - _that made little sense to her foggy thoughts. In the distance, over the man's shoulder, she saw Hogwarts rise out of the mist and darkness like a fortress aflame during a siege. She could see her beloved school, the lights cutting through the darkness like a beacon for ships lost on the ocean, as surely as she could hear voices murmuring on the wind.

"Who goes there!?" Hermione started, and nearly lost herself when a low growl slipped past her lips. At her side, the woman wrapped an arm around her, voice low as she whispered, "Calm, Kira, you must be calm."

Hermione glanced at the woman, confusion radiating out of her. Why did she keep calling her that?

"We are guests. The Headmaster and Albus Dumbledore await our arrival!" The man leading them called out into the darkness, and then Hermione saw the light of _lumos _light up the darkness before a young man, perhaps seventeen or eighteen, appear from the fog like a ghost. Hermione looked him over once, a growl still echoing in the depths of her chest, as his gaze swept over them. Clinging to the woman, weak and lost in the situation as it unfolded, the man's gaze fell upon her. She felt a slight probing in the back of her mind, and something within her shoved back. Next to her, the woman was also tense, but the young man looked over his shoulder as he said, "I see that you are unwell. Come, I will take you to Headmaster."

As she followed along silently, she finally realized _who _this young man was. Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Somehow, in someway, she had landed herself fifty years in the past.


	2. A Puzzle Unveiled

**Author's Note**: For those who have already read the first Chapter when it came out, I have made a few changes to the chapter (while it is not necessary to reread the chapter, it's advised.) However, confusion is likely as time passes, but that is for the best. Also, I would love to hear everyone's theories about what 'currently going on' in the story. Also, suggestions are welcome (also names, seeing as I'm going to have to add the ancestors of their future offspring.)

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**Rating**: **T**

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"Alvane Kiran?"

It was a name Hermione was unfamiliar with. In one way, it was her own, but the sound was stilted and unwanted as she whispered it to herself in her mind. It was an endless mantra, one that repeated itself as she slowly committed the on-goings to memory. Katta, the elderly woman who Hermione met first, was aged and solemn-eyed as she spoke to a redheaded man with twinkling blue eyes. Grey hair tangled, skin bruised and battered, the young girl thought the two of them shared the same pains. Tenzin, a man who, apparently, traveled with them stood at her side. His face was devoid of emotion, his body relaxed. Despite the sharp bursts of pain running through her body, Hermione was not fooled. She clearly understood the dangers this man possessed, the blades of his axes sharp and stained red from where they hung at his best.

She did not wish to contemplate the unfortunate soul which found their end by his hand. There were others in the room. Four stood behind Tenzin, and Hermione herself, while others prowled across the room with wide, curious eyes. There was a sense of wonder in those gazes, a look that made the wild-haired girl question if these men have ever seen a building such as Hogwarts. Yet, as one touched the stone wall with hesitant fingers while another careful stroked the crisp, white sheets of the bed, the answer came to her.

These men knew not the stones which made Hogwarts. They were men of the wild, of steel and raw magic, who knew ice and snow as clearly as they knew pain and war and bloodshed. It was an answer which turned deep within her, like a butterfly opening its wings for flight, and, for, perhaps, the hundredth time in the past hour, a sense of fear and unease settled in her chest.

"Kira?" Hermione glanced up, sluggish, and met Katta's gaze as Madam Pleimann, Hogwarts nurse, pressed two fingers to her pulse. The woman's skin was hot, like fire, against the cold flesh of her wrist. "Kira, can you remember what had happened before we ended up at Hogwarts? Do you remember seeing anyone before we came here?"

As she thought on the question, she found the situation most peculiar. In the depths of her mind, she realized she _did _know. Like a memory of her own, the images flashed through the inky darkness of her mind as she whispered, "I recall fire. Green light, screaming, a feeling of being locked under ice as if I had fallen through into a body of water. Drowning, a rage and desperation. Then there was magic...and darkness."

The images were there - _Sparks of green, the scent of blood and sweat. Twisting, bounding across the burning bridge, leaping into a twisted and dark forest. Something sharp cutting through the air, grazing her side, and the ground breaking underfoot. Cold. Water. Darkness. Pain - _as she carefully turned them over in her mind's eye. It was an odd feeling, a sense of terror but a burning rage screamed underneath. These memories did not mesh with hers, the two stark in differences but happening at the same time. Her internal clock was there, on both accounts. She easily recalled the Department of Mysteries, remembered a burst of red light aimed for Sirius, and then falling into shadows. Two sets of memories, overlapping, fought. They clashed, meshing, coming together. Holding and merging into two images, one transparent with the other shining through. It was...nerve-wracking at the best.

"The war, sweet Mother, Albus, the _war _left us no choice but to flee." Katta was saying, her voice pained as she clasped his hands in hers. It drew Hermione from her thoughts, and she turned her thoughts to the conversation at hand. Katta pressed onward, voice strained as she said, "I know that the favor I ask is a risk, but he _cannot _be allowed to have her. He cannot. You, of all people, should know that."

"How could I refuse," Albus Dumbledore murmured, "I am a man of honor. Twice you have saved my life, and now I have the chance to return the debt. I will gladly take Miss Kiran, and Hogwarts will be her home until the Elders say otherwise."

"Kira," Hermione glanced up, eyes questioning, as Katta moved to her side. Rough hands grasped her, and she found herself looking this woman in the eye as Katta murmured, "I know we are far from home, that _you _are far from home, but we must ask much of you. Here you will be safe, away from the war, but every stronghold has hidden dangers. Albus Dumbledore is a man you can trust, Alvane Kiran, and it is here you must stay. You know your duty. I know you will not fail us."

Numbly, Hermione nodded and rose. _The others do not know who I am. Be it as Kira, or as Hermione._

"I will stay." She met Katta's eyes, and, voice firm, swore, "I will not fail."

_For if I do, the consequences will be grave._

**~.O.o.O.o.O.~**

Tom knew not where the girl, nor her companions, had come from.

He did not like _not_ knowing. There was a mystery there, these strangers who came upon Hogwarts soil by magic, and the injuries he had glimpsed mapped out a tale of war. Of conflict and struggle. The slight widening of the girl's, this Kira, eyes expressed some form of familiarity. Of recognition. Turning the page in his text-book, a thin stream of icy water weaving between his fingers as he thought on the events, he contemplated the course of action he should take. Which would be best?

He did not like boredom, and the routine Hogwarts dropped on the students was hardly challenging. It was equally odd to arrive in the middle of the night, but the panicked look on the old man's face was refreshing. The twinkle in those eyes had dimmed, and a deep sense of worry had consumed the blue depths. Again, he found himself wondering who these strangers were. Why had they come to Hogwarts? How were they able to breach the barriers that disabled magical means of travel - be it to apparate, the use of a portkey, or any other device. And how, he hissed to himself, did they know Albus Dumbledore. A glimmer of irritation, like the spark of a flame, rose in his chest before dying.

He had questions; and damn any who stood in his way of the answers he sought.


	3. Silence of Magic

**Author's Note**: I generally do not do two chapters in two days, but I had this image stuck in my head. So, before I lost it, I spat it out, wrote it, rewrote it, erased it, and wrote it again until I had it cut the way I wanted it. I must say, however, that the reviews I got were inspiring. There is a lot of things I can work with on this, and questions will be shot up and theories will be tossed around. I do enjoy reading those, I really do. They make me smile. A lot happens in this chapter, and the end is a bit of a cliffhanger - there are many places she could end, but I'm wavering between Ravenclaw and the sly Slytherin. I'd like to see everyone's thoughts on that.

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**Rating**: **T**

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A mirror shattered.

Glass shot across the room as the rage tried to take her. The beast howled, roaring in fury, as Hermione crumbled to the ground. Pain. Anger. A feeling of unjust happenstance. Righteous fury cut through her, her blood boiling as something within her shoved against her mental walls. Her vision swam as the _other _in her lashed out, pain surging between the twisted and warped connection living between what was and what was to be. It screamed. It Howled. It was almost like she had a monster rampaging in the back of her mind, a lion throwing back its head or a wolf tearing through the forest as another pack tried to wrestle its territory from its claws.

She could almost feel its claws cutting through the organized complex of her mind, knocking down the bookshelves of her knowledge, and roaring with challenge for her to dare venture in and stop it before it drove her to insanity. She could feel her mindscape quivering as trees ruptured stone floors and rivers of crystalline water weaved through the maze. She could feel the ceiling of her mind collapsing, and a dark sky and a full moon glared down at her from above. Her mind was at war with itself, and Hermione wanted to scream.

As she hauled herself to her feet, side pressed against one of the posts on her bed, she felt her irritation rise. She was filthy. Dirty. As she pressed her back against the door leading to her rooms in the quest suite, hands buried in her hair as her headache started to shift into a relentless migraine, she noted she could not even tell the color of her skin. The pale flesh was covered in dirt so dark it was black as night. It felt like she was being pulled into two different directions, and neither side wanted to release their proclaimed property.

On top of the information that she was, much to her disdain, being transferred into her fifth-year at Hogwarts, three weeks late, she also had to deal with the fact that she had _two _sets of memories. As she shrugged out of the tattered clothing she was wearing, body sore, she paused. She turned her forearm, exposing the dirtied flesh, and eyed the wound Madam Pleimann had set upon the day prior. As she stepped into the tube, submerging her dirtied flesh, she eyed the tanned flesh, not the pale, that was exposed with a scar, like dozens of small crescent moons, staring up at her.

She touched one with her fingertip, and shivered when a spark of raw, foreign magic surged underneath. Turning her other forearm, eyeing the tanned flesh there, she noticed the same, small scars littering the flesh. They were difficult to see, an appearance she could only conclude as a complex glamour. Madam Pleimann had not mentioned them when she had tended to the long, curving gash on her arm, a scar that started from shoulder to wrist, and she felt her insides squirm.

As she pulled her arm closer, a vague collection of overlapping images - _a small child sat in a moss-laden clearing, silver and amber eyes staring at the moon; a setting sun fell over a small, maze-like village as a young girl stood on the edge of a building with the ground hundreds of feet below; falling, shimmering blue and violet energy fanning out below, catching her, pulling her back to safety_ - danced through her mind. Leaning into the wall of the bath, eyes closing, she tried to shift through the hazy recollections from a life not her own.

"Kira?" Her eyes opened as Katta entered the room, and she watched the elderly woman for several, long moments before closing her eyes. She heard Katta walking across the floor, and then a cloth was brushing across her collarbone before it stilled. Hermione opened her eyes, feeling oddly content in the waters with a woman watching over her, one she did not know, before turning her attention to the soft words spoken, "Kira, this marking..."

Sitting up, shifting to eye the mark uncovered, Hermione felt as if a vat of ice was poured upon her. Staring out at her from the dark tan of her skin was a silver marking, sharp and jagged, that she had seen often enough over the past five years to draw it in her sleep. A lightning bolt. It was the mark of death coming from darkness, a mark which spoke of the living soul severed from the living body. A curse mark. She felt her chest tighten as another scar, similar to this one marring her shoulder, flash behind her mind's eye. Harry. She swallowed, sick to her stomach, she felt the gap between these two realities widen.

Katta looked upon her for a long moment in silence, her touch gentle as she brushed her fingers over the scar, before she whispered, "By the Stars, my moon-clad child, I am happy the Mother granted you to continue to walk among us. I saw you fall, but you were alive when I found you. You lived when all others died."

Hermione turned, arms limp at her side. She sat when Katta gestured her to, and tilted her head back moments before warm water fell upon her head and shoulders. As the elderly woman cleaned her of the grim clinging to her skin, she continued to speak, "When that curse hit you, I feared the worst. I have heard of none who could survive it, but the Mother favors you. She always has. Perhaps it is because you take to the Blood more than any of the others of the Clan. Ah, there we go."

Streaks of crimson, of blond and brown, caught her eye. She gently reached up, and caught a wet strand of hair between her fingers. The deepest hue of auburn, Hermione noted, was not the color of her hair. It was as good as the darkest brown. It was almost black with thin rivers of red fire glowing underneath the untamed mass. She opted to relax under Katta's knowing hands, and her eyes closed as she tried to steer her thoughts.

"Are you certain you wish to do this, Alvane?" Hermione's eyes opened, and she blinked before she whispered, "If it is here, then I will find it. Without it, we can never return home. If I do not, all we fought for will be for naught."

Flashes of a blond man danced in the backdrops of her mind. A charming man with an accent, and eyes full of power. A man who had touched her gently, a threat on his lips. Her skin crawled as the visual dropped into her thoughts, and, as she stood, she turned to face the elderly woman with a gentle word, "Mother died protecting me. You are the only family I have left."

**~.O.o.O.o.O.~**

_Alvane Kiran, fifteen. _Albus Dumbledore looked at the photo on his desk, a muggle photo with a female staring hatefully back at him, eyes of two different colors, and felt a pang of sorrow for the child. She was powerful, he knew, and the magic in her blood was raw. He had met few of her family who lived with such eyes. They died as young as they were born early. A child born from _that _bloodline, and its rituals, Albus knew he could not suspect anything less from someone like her. _Eyes of silver and molten amber, bright and intense. The eyes of the Beast, the Elder Katta once told me. The eyes of a Stormborn._

He sat at his desk in his quarters, and looked up as Fawkes swept across the room to land on his desk. He reached out, and gently ruffled the fiery feathers as he said, "I pity the fate of this child, my old friend. To give her to such magic at such a young age...I pity her, and any who dare try and cross her."

Another picture, one of himself, his sister and brother, and a different Kiran stared at him. Hecate Kiran. It was a suiting name, Albus knew as he traced those sharp features. The Wise Mother of Magic, some would say, had been a friend of his sister's. A friend of the Dumbledores. A friend of his who had saved his life when she was nothing more than a young girl, a girl who had risked the wrath from the wolf spirits in a dark forest no witch or wizard would dare enter. Nothing of magic would dare venture into the homeland of a dementor, but the Kirans were born of the Blood, and they knew the land and its danger like a wizard knows the dangers of the Killing Curse.

_Then there is the matter of Jolon, _Dumbledore felt an odd shiver shot through his body. He had not felt any indication of the fabled creature upon their arrival, but, by all accounts, it could be due to the girl's exhaustion. _What kind of darkness will she bring into Hogwarts. And will she be strong enough to control it?_

"I fear she will draw the wrong sort of attention while she is here," He petted his longtime friend and familiar, eyes sad as he picked up the child's picture. "It seems that I have another student I must keep a close eye on. Dark Magic is a force of seduction, and few can fight it off."

**~.O.o.O.o.O.~**

Tom Riddle was bored.

It was a familiar occurrence, but, as he sat with his House around him, he knew the year was taking a new turn. He could feel the magic in Hogwarts rising, feel new and ancient wards springing up and locking themselves in place. The staff at the table looked uncomfortable, but Headmaster Dippet did not seemed bothered. Dumbledore himself had yet to make an appearance, but Tom knew he was with the newest addition to the school. Next to him, he could hear the other Slytherins holding a light conversation that stilled when the doors to the Great Hall opened.

Albus Dumbledore was entering, his hair whirling around him like living fire that contrasted horridly against the yellow-and-red robes he wore. Following on his heel was a young girl, a wildling, that seemingly prowled across the ground, glided, more than she walked. A hunter. A predator. Her eyes, a blue so sharp it was silver, and gold so intense it was molten amber, cut through the hall from under the tangled, untamed mass of near-black hair as those sharp eyes observed those around her. He caught streaks of crimson and blond mingling, and then they were gone as she whirled around to face the rest of the Great Hall from where she stood next to the Deputy Headmaster and Professor of Transfiguration.

"Greetings, Hogwarts!" Dumbledore held up a hand, calling silence without words, before continuing onward, "As I am sure you have all heard already, we are welcoming a new student into our midst. This here is Alvane Kiran, a child hailing from the wilds of Mor, who shall be staying with us for an unknown length of time. It is my hope that all of you will help her find her way in our strange ways as she adjusts to living among a large community of magic. Now, let us have her Sorted!"

Tom watched as she perched on the stool, stiff and glaring, and he inhaled as he felt her magic spike. Dumbledore leaned in, and was talking to her in a soft tone he could not hear. He could not see between their hair, one long and the other crazed, before the Sorting Hat was set upon her head. As they rested in silence, the students eagerly waiting to see which House she would be in, Tom found himself leaning back with a slight narrowing to his eyes. One minute passed, and then another. The Great Hall fell to silence.


	4. Of Shadows and Darkness

**Author's Note**: Okay, I am _totally _in love with my darling reviewers! Not trying to be creepy, by the way. I love the thoughts on Alvane's appearance. Alvane Kiran, a lioness (as someone called her), wild and untamed. A huntress. I absolutely adore that description. I had a general idea of where I was going to put Miss Hermione-now-Alvane, though I love seeing how many of you are falling along the same lines as I. Though I do think I have a few twists I believe many of you will enjoy.

I am also pleased to say that _this _chapter is a longer one than the three before it. This story is coming out quickly, and that makes me very happy. I tend to do this when a story is coming to life inside of me, and I keep on pounding out the chapters until I have to force myself to switch to one of the others I'm working on. Saddens me to have to do so, but it does happen. Anyway. Onward!

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**Rating**: **T**

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_'There is much darkness in your heart, Alvane Kiran nee Hermione Granger.'_

Hermione sat upon the stool, fully aware of the countless eyes trained on her body, and felt a wave of relief wash through her at the familiar tone of the Sorting Hat. The sombre tone echoed through her mind, and its touch was gentle as it sank into the folds of her existence. She sat with her hands in her lap, her eyes closed, and embraced the feeling this old artifact gave her as it shifted through her mind to view her life, her ambitions, her fears and what she adored.

_Do you know what happened to me? _She waited, apprehensive, for an answer to her question. As if in response, a memory shot up. It was one of her, the one outside of a strange and small body, racing through the Department of Mysteries. It was of her leaping into the open, the Dark Lord behind her and Death Eaters before her. It was of a spell hitting her in the back as she flew in front of Sirius, and then falling through a shadowy archway that he would have fallen into had she not been in the way. It took her a moment to realize what it was showing her was the Veil. _  
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_'Death is not easily conquered, but it is not impossible to escape its clutches.' _The Hat told her as it started pulling memories from other places, all of them blurring past her mind's eye as it said, _'Magic has a mind of its own, and it is known to act out in order to achieve the overlapping threads of destiny and fate set in motions before our earthly world was built. Perhaps your will to survive leapt the bonds of time, and landed you here. Perhaps you were meant to fall through. Perhaps you were unfortunate, and took the place of another who should have fallen through Death's Gate.'_

Hermione knew of the Veil, of its purpose, and shuddered at the thought of falling through it. The meaning of what it meant to have passed through it was numbing, and the aspect of knowing she had _died _was a distressing thought. Her blood chilled in her veins as she thought about it, uncomfortable with the thought of all she was forced to leave behind.

_That would explain the feeling of being submerged under an icy lake, a feeling of drowning. My body and soul were split apart._

The Hat hummed in agreement, but did not respond. Images of her childhood rose to the surface, a bushy-haired child with large front teeth and large glasses sitting in the corner of a library with a book on her knees and a pencil sticking out of her hair. It flickered to the same child locked in closet, and the screaming voices of her parents rising through the floor. It shifted to her at school, sitting by herself as the other children played, before turning to her eleventh birthday when she first received her Hogwarts Letter. It moved to her first Sorting, of the options she could have chosen.

_'Ravenclaw, for the wise; Gryffindor, for the brave; Slytherin, for the cunning and those who will strive hardest for what they desire.' _The Hat mused to itself, and, as it shifted to a different part of her mind, it murmured, _'Now only two are available to you. Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Gryffindor you once were in. That door has been closed to you, and its path to you is nevermore.'_

She sat, taking one deep breath after another, and felt something else stir around her. The Sorting Hat stilled, and she felt something within the depths of her mindscape nudged before the temperature around her dropped. The Hat pulled its touch back, quick but careful, as it murmured, _'Most intriguing. It would seem I have to take your companion into consideration as well. Luck favors you, child. I sense touches of intrusion in your mind, but they were readily blocked. Does your companion have a name?'_

_Companion? _Hermione's brow furrowed, and she carefully turned her own consciousness towards the pulsing mindscape existing within the heart of her shifting existence with a cautious touch. As she sank into it, slow to find her way, she was alarmed by the state of her once perfect library. She remembered Harry telling of his own mindscape, of how it had formed itself to be Hogwarts, and how he had smiled when she told him hers was a vast, multilevel library with a horde of books so vast it was countless. Yet, as she slipped into her mindscape, she was awed by the vast, forested terrain that seemingly had overgrown the ancient library. As she turned, taking in the sight, she heard the Hat say, _'The mind is a complex place, and it takes on the appearance of one's personality. What you see now is a picture of what was, and what could be.'_

On the outer rim of her mind, she felt her body relax. She could not tell how long she had been sitting there, not completely, but she opted to ignore that in favor of listening as the Hat continued, _'Yet this brings forth a question. Who are you now that the one you use to be is no more? Are you Hermione Granger, or are you Alvane Kiran? Are you neither, or are you a blend of both?'_

_I am not sitting here for you to pose me riddles, Sorting Hat. _Hermione felt the Hat laugh, its melodious tone echoing throughout the forest. She felt a slight shift in the trees around her, and she felt a shiver travel along her spine. _As it is, we have sat here for quite some time. If you could hurry up?_

Again the Hat laughed before she felt a pull, its voice soft as it said, _'You never answered my question. Does your companion have a name?'_

Hermione opted to ignore him in favor of finding the subtle force twisting in agitation in the depths of her mind. As she continued deep into the forest, as she slipped between leaning bookshelves and twisting stairs leading to thick, maze-like vines above, she knew that whatever was ahead was important. She could feel it as she closed in into the dense forested clearing, a ring of bookshelves standing like giant stone watchers, and paused as the ground opened up to a vast, bottomless darkness with only a pulsing orb of energy resting directly overhead.

_My companion. Jolon. _The name echoed in her thoughts, and the Hat stilled as it whispered, _'Valley of the Dead Oaks. A most fitting name.'_

Her mind reached out for this entity, this powerful source of magic existing deep within her, and felt the weak pulses of life running underneath. It took her a moment to realize this was the being that had nearly tore her minds to shred. Standing before it, their contrasting magics nearly touching, she found herself standing on the brick between certainty and indecisiveness. Drawing in a deep breath, feeling the link between this thing and the body it was nestled deep within, she closed the gap between their energies like a mother embracing her children.

An onslaught of images whirled around her mind as she did so, countless and complex of another life, before they slowed to the most recent. Slowly, a memory - _fire burned hot, the leaves of the Elder Trees burning, as she ran. Screaming; shouting; the roar of magic cut through the air. A blur of movement, and then there was the forest thinning, almost out, and then an emerald light cutting through the forest. Pain seared through her side, across her left collarbone, before she was hurtled out over the edge of the cliff. Falling; drowning; sinking. A burst of energy, violet and blue, surrounded her before she vanished moments before she hit the ground below - _came to her. It was distorted as she turned to view it as it replayed around her, like a ghost forever bound to replay its days out until it was freed. The green light, the one Alvane had no name for, it was one Hermione had seen. It was one she knew - _Avada Kedavra: _The Killing Curse.

Alvane had died. Alvane Kiran had been killed in some kind of attack, but Hermione could not begin to understand why _she _was in this girl's skin. She felt this presence before her, Jolon, expand before a sense of utter determination, mercilessness, wash over her. It was then that she felt the Sorting Hat make up its mind, its answer glimpsed from the memories and understanding it had gained, before it finally roared out for the rest of the Great Hall to hear: _"Slytherin!"_

Hermione was pulled from the mindscape the moment the House was called, and she slowly stood with Dumbledore's aid. He lifted the Sorting Hat from her head, and their eyes met for a long moment. Again she felt the slight intrusion against the outer recesses of her mind, and again the force in her, the one who Alvane had called Jolon, sprung up like a barrier intent to destroy anything that tried to breach it. The hostile presence did not go unnoticed for the man she knew as her Headmaster dipped his head in acknowledgement, and the Sorting Hat spoke, _"Sly; Cunning; Ambition. These are the traits of Slytherin where self-preservation will rule those who dare stray." _

Dumbledore sat the Hat down, and, turning to face the Great Hall, he said, "It is my hope that you all will make her feel welcome. For those in Slytherin, you will be those who will guide her during her stay here. You will be her family, and Slytherin her home. Tom, my boy, if you would be so kind..."

Hermione watched as Tom Riddle stood, and walked to the front of the room. He stood below her, on the level below, as Dumbledore continued, "This is Tom Riddle. You will be sharing some classes with his year due to your situation. He is also Head Boy, so if there are any problems, do not hesitate to bring it up with him. I am sure he will show you that Slytherin is a House to be proud of."

"Miss Kiran," Tom took one step back, and Hermione stepped down until they stood on the same level. He was taller than her, she noted instantly as she looked through her lashes into his eyes. The crown of her head barely brushed his shoulder. When he held out his hand, a charming smile on his face, she set hers in his with absolute care. She felt her body flush when he brought her hand to his mouth, brushing his lips against her knuckles first and then her wrist second, before saying, "It would be an honor to show a fellow Slytherin around our proud school. Please, come and sit with my friends and I. It would be a great pleasure to get to know you, Miss Kiran."

As she followed behind him, her hand still caught in his grasp, only one thought danced across her mind; _Bloody two-faced priss-of-a-sham._

**~.O.o.O.o.O.~**

Esras Prince watched in silent contemplation as his Lord brought Kiran to their section of the table. He shared a look with Eileen, and saw his sister's dark eyes watching with the same thoughtful look he knew was dancing within his own. A quick glance around the table showed that everyone else was roughly in the same state. None of them would question their Lord, not in public or in private. To do so was most unwise.

Yet there was something _wild _about Alvane Kiran. Esras blinked, owl-like, as he watched her take a seat between Tom and Abraxas. The warning had already been issued. Mor, a forested wetland, was a place he had remembered hearing about from his mother when he was a child. It was often spoken of before he and his sister were tucked into bed, and tales of the children of the wild kept them in their bed long after sunrise. To have one in the flesh, those eyes intense and unyielding, was enough to draw silence from many of the pureblooded witches and wizards around her. This silence was something Tom had picked up on, and Esras silently applauded him for the caution he was taking with the girl._  
_

She was dangerous.

He could feel her magic in the air, raw and unfocused. She was seemingly content to ignore them as she picked at the various foods around her before frowning. It was almost like she was unaware of the power cloaking her skin, the raw magic she held caressing them as they sat around her in tense silence. He watched carefully, and felt his brow furrow when she passed the meats completely.

She was small, thin and willowy, but there was a tension to her body that belied her physical strength. Compared to the other girls around her, she was an exotic doll. As she reached for the goblet to fill her cup, he noted the long scar peeking out from under her sleeve. It caught the attention of the surrounding Slytherin, and Abraxas was quick to speak, "From what I understood, Madam Pleimann tended to you and yours upon your arrival."

"And she had." Kiran's voice was soft, almost sibilant, and Esras fought against the shiver that was attempting to race along his skin. She didn't offer any more information than that, but others were not willing to let it slide. Lestrange leaned in, arms folded on the table and eyes narrowed, as he asked, "If she had, than that _thing_ would not be marring your skin."

"Do you find a scar repulse, wizard?" She had set her knife down, but her hand never left the silver handle. Esras stilled at the cold tone underneath, a tone that spoke volumes of her thoughts on that one chosen title, and he schooled his expression into an impassive mask. Her tone was calm, but her eyes were two blazing suns in her face. Lestrange stilled, caught in those eyes, but the tightrope he was standing on was obvious. Glancing between them, Esras was resigned to intrude and he was careful as he picked his words.

"You misunderstand, Miss Kiran." Her gaze shifted to him, and he held her gaze for a moment. He then gestured to the curving scar on her arm, skin that would have been unblemished if not for that one mark, before continuing, "Magic can heal almost every wound without leaving a mark. We are merely curious as to why yours, despite having been healed Madam Pleimann, betrays the logic we grew up with."

"You are correct. Magic can heal nearly any wound, given the length of time it has been allowed to set," Kiran bit into a strawberry, her gaze holding his as the nectar stained her mouth red. She was silent for a long moment, but she finally returned to the conversation as she asked a question of her own. "Perhaps you should be asking yourself why Albus had openly given out the personal information of a student. As your represented by a snake, I am sure you can figure out the message he was giving all of you."

Lestrange's expression was sharp, but he did not speak. Abraxas ran his hand through his hair, a light frown marring his features as he asked, "You knew you would be in Slytherin?"

"I had suspected." She returned to her food, and Esras felt the first hint of danger recede until the air over their table was light and calm. He chanced a look at Tom, and saw that the dark-haired Head Boy had not turned his gaze away from the girl sitting among them. Knowing he was watching, Tom lifted his gaze and their eyes met. Esras looked away after receiving a light, knowing smirk.

_So the games begin._

**~.O.o.O.o.O.~**

Hermione walked through the halls, her clan around her, and felt something within her begin to sooth itself. She was content to walk among them, her hand brushing against Katta's, and the warmth from Tenzin behind her was a moon-clad blessing. Sidhe, she realized. Slyvan, she acknowledged. She turned her arm so the silvery crescent moons shimmered in the light coming from the open archways lining the walls.

"Will I see you again, Elder Katta?"

"Only if the Mother is willing." Hermione lowered her gaze, and then looked out the window as the sun crept higher into the sky. The day was just starting, and, as she stood there with a stray wind dancing around her, she felt Katta place a hand on her shoulder. Hermione had to strain her ears to hear the light words as they were spoken, "Dark days are coming, my child. It is the shadows you must strive for. It is the true darkness that you must find. Only then will they be able to save you."


	5. Lost Within A Name

**Author's Note**: When I said I have surprises at hand, you will see that I am honest. This chapter was fun to write, and some of the questions from previous chapters will be answered in this. Like those before this chapter, I am trying to make each chapter more than just 'dabble' length. So, yeah, about two-or-three thousand is the length I'm going for in regards to words.

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**Rating**: **T**

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_'Wir sind die Jäger.'_

A deep thrum came from deep within her mind, the tone almost mocking as the words whispered across the surface of her thoughts. It danced on the edge of her senses, deep and sibilant, as she stepped into the dark nest which would be her home for an unprecedented amount of time. Slytherin was a House of pride, of power and ambition, and she felt the entity dwelling within her flow into her limbs and blood as she stepped into the common room. Her gaze was pulled away from the imminent surroundings to the far wall, half hidden in shadows. Stepping closer, she noted how the entirety of that one wall was made of magic reinforced glass, and the sight beyond it was of the depths of the Black Lake.

Stepping up to the class, pressing a hand against the mist-laden glass, she stared into the maze of underwater structures displayed below. Behind her, she heard Dumbledore say, "It is my hope that you will be comfortable here, my dear."

She glanced at the redheaded man, someone who looked far too young to be the same wizard she knew in her time, and glanced out the underwater window as she murmured, "It has a homely feel to it, Professor Dumbledore. It is endearing, the way Salazar made his domain. It reminds me of home."

A tanned hand grasped her shoulder, and she turned partly to look at him as he said, "I know there are no words I can say that will lessen your loss, but, all the same, I am sorry for what has occurred. I hope you can find a sanctum in Hogwarts, Kira. If there is anything you need, name it and I will see to it."

"Your life debt," The words were whispered, but Dumbledore smiled as he said, "Yes, my debts. Your mother saved me, and she asked that I, in return, look after you should anything befall her. I had hoped to meet you sometime, even for you to attend this school for at least a year of your life, but the circumstances which have brought you here were not what I had envisioned."

Hermione nodded, nearly mute, before she asked, "Will you see to my books and supplies? I am afraid that I do not have the things I need if I am to live as a student among the others."

She hesitated for a moment, and, somehow, Dumbledore knew she was not finished for he remained silent as she asked, "My mother...did you know her well?"

"I knew your mother like I know my own blood. She was a stern woman, but kind and loyal." He gestured her to follow, and she fell in step with him as they made their way down one hall. His voice was low as he said, "It was she who showed me that magic is far more complex than the black-and-white image the Ministry is trying to reinforce upon our people. I do find the lessons they wish are necessary, but your arrival will help shift things from falsehoods to truths."

He opened a door, and stepped inside. "This will be your chamber for the remainder of your stay. Slytherin, unlike the other Houses, was built with individual rooms in each year as a means of privacy. The hall outside leads to the rest of your year - females only, naturally.

"As for your supplies, Kira, I will have them delivered here by sundown. I am sorry that your own upbringing will separate you from the others of your year and age, but I think that you, and Madam Galatea, will be most pleased with your unique...contributions that only you can provide to Defense."

Hermione walked around the room, taking in the interior, before slowly perching on the end of the bed as her professor continued, "There was a subject we have been interested in teaching, but, until you arrived, we could go no farther than the theory behind the practice. When Elder Katta said you would be willing to assist Galatea in her class, the entire staff was thrilled. There are few who can use their magic as you can. Seventh year curriculum is an odd branch, but the others below it are something that you cannot preform given..."

Hermione stared.

_Jolon. _She whispered it aloud, and Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, Jolon. Is he...is he here?"

She was silent as the earlier statement settled. A slight throbbing at her temple redirected her thoughts, her mind forging ahead as she tried to grasp the ever-shifting direction of the conversation. Her mind leapt through a list of names she had learned, of the various professors who taught during the years Riddle was in Hogwarts, and she felt the gears turning until only one name centered itself in her mind: Galatea Merrythought, Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts.

With a sinking feeling, she realized the timeline wasn't matching like it should - Dumbledore was younger than he shoulder have been, and Professor Merrythought should have retired _two years ago._

_I'm going to be teaching Defense with Professor Merrythought? _

Hermione glanced up, and spotted the look Dumbledore was giving her before she nodded. "Jolon is here."

"Here?"

"Yes."

"He is _here_ in this _room?"_ Dumbledore looked alarmingly uncomfortable, and Hermione felt her skin crawl when the presence, the dark and silken magic that often raged in the depths of her mindscape, pulsed in response to the Deputy Headmaster's question. His face lost some color as the wall split in three, almost like a beast had raked its claws clean through the stone, but his voice was even when he said, "Ah, yes, I see that he is, indeed, in the room with us. Can you control him?"

_"No one _can control him, Albus." The raging headache came to mind, the whirlwind of power and the feeling of being torn apart from within. The changed mindscape returned to her thoughts, of the noble and ancient ruin buried deep in an ageless forest. Her mind was pulled to flickering - _a forest, trees, children pushing and angry voices; one boy stepped forward, pressing her backward; panic; the edge of the cliff brushed the back of her heel; fear; the boy doubled over, an impression darkening on the throat; a wailing mother; screams of demons and monsters -_ images in the back of her mind, buried but slowly coming to the surface, and she felt distinctly sick as she murmured, "Not even I can tell him what to do."

"Jolon is sentient?"

"He is." Hermione could feel the magic, she could feel _Jolon, _wrapped around her. She could feel the tides of magic raging in the depths of her mind, pulling, tugging, the ill memories away from the forefront of her thoughts and into the dense forest of her mind. A shift of magic spiked through her thoughts, and a low growl rose in her mind as Dumbledore said, "Is something wrong?"

"A student is coming down the hall." Hermione titled her head as a second impression settled, of a darkened hallway with a student striding down it with a purpose to his stride, as she murmured, "I do not think Jolon likes this student."

"Is there a reason?"

"For the same reason he does not like you." Dumbledore blinked, and then he inhaled sharply. "Legilimency. I should have known."

"Should have known what, Professor Dumbledore?" The door had opened, but the layer of magic on the room comforted her. She turned to see Riddle enter the robe in a flurry of robes, not a hair out of place. Within her mind, the voice snarled before one barrier after another was thrown up. Dark eyes turned to her, a mixture between the darkest of grey with hints of violet, and she slowly inclined her head in greeting as she murmured, "Welcome, Riddle. Is there something you need?"

His gaze settled on her for a long moment, expression unreadable, before he finally said, "I thought I would see if you are settling within our House. It can be rather disconnecting, especially if you are unfamiliar with the territory."

"Are you saying I am unable to adjust on my own, wizard?" There was a lull to her tone, a lilt, that betrayed the anger rushing through her. In response, the temperature dropped, and their breaths turned white. Riddle shifted, eyes narrowing a hair, as he said, "I am saying that I, alongside the rest of our House, would like to help you should you be so willing. As Slytherins, we must stand united lest the rest of others wish to tear us down."

"Do not misunderstand me, _Riddle. _I can stand on my own, and I do not have any desire to play a part of the games which run through the Houses. Least of all, yours." His eyes narrowed, and, next to her, Dumbledore set a hand on her shoulder as he said, "Calm yourself, Kira. Tom is being earnest. As Head Boy, it is his duty to see to your adjustments, and to ensure that you are aware of the difficulties between Slytherin and the other Houses."

Hermione felt the _other _her rebelling, the anger rising, and fought for control. She paced, hands tight, as she said, the words forced, "Forgive me. I am use to the ploy of the wilds. Life among rival clans are filled with shadows, and are as dangerous as they deadly. Everything has a double-meaning, you see. I am most..._grateful_...for your...offered assistance. However, I must decline as of now."

"Is there a reason?"

He was pressing. Hermione knew it. Alvane knew it. Jolon knew it. _Kira _knew it, and it was something that settled in her mind as she paced. She was not who she was, she was no longer _just _Hermione. She was no longer Alvane. She was someone caught in between. She was, for a lack of better words, _just Kira. _Trying to imprint the name, the new meaning, into her mind was difficult. It was like finding herself lost in a place she knew nothing of.

"I have many things I must see to. Studies, you see. Duties I must perform." She closed her eyes, and, reminded herself that she was _Kira. _She knew, deep within herself, that she could not think of herself by the _other _name. The old name. That name did not exist, and, as she sat on the edge of her bed, she erased it and locked it into the churning depths of her mind. Next to her, Dumbledore sat a hand on her shoulder as he said, "It is Friday, thankfully. You will have several days to get an idea on what you will do here, and I hope you will find comfort, that you shall find friends, among the students. The days are dark, and you will need someone to watch your back when you are unable."

It didn't escape her notice that Tom Riddle furrowed his brow, a mystery unfolding in his mind's eye.

She was determined to keep him unaware. For her sake and for those around her.

**~.O.o.O.o.O.~**

Shadows danced along the edge of the glass, the globe alight with magic and energy.

Abraxas sat towards the middle of the room, Alphard at his side, and watched as some of the others whispered among themselves. Class was halfway through, and he he glanced up as the door opened. Tom entered, robes billowing around him, and Abraxas felt his eyes narrow in consideration as he exchanged a look with Esras before making room for their Lord. He looked his friend over in silence, trying to detect _what _was off about the younger boy before he noted it on the young aspiring Dark Lord's brow.

Tom Riddle was irritated.

An aspiring Dark Lord, his mood as black as his element, dropped his bag next to their desk and sat. Abraxas fought to keep his face a mask of calm, and he noted that Esras was doing the same. Lestrange glanced up, eyes dark and questioning, before he lowered his gaze back to the book he was studying. There were times when the blond questioned the dark-haired Lestrange, but he opted to pursue more rational, and logical, pursuits of the mind.

He would find only frustration trying to solve the puzzle that was Lestrange's mind. Esras leaned in from the seat behind them as Tom sat next to him, on the outside of the row close to the door, as he said, "I take it that your evaluation of our newest snake did not go as well as we had hoped."

"It had not." Tom set his books on the table, and then grabbed his inkwell and quill as he said, "Alvane Kiran shifts like a heatwave over desert sand. I am unsure on how to approach her, but I do know that Dumbledore is close to her. That alone is cause enough to keep a close eye on her."

"I take it that more questions arose from your investigation," Abraxas murmured as he flipped through the pages of the book, a slight frown marring his brow. He brushed his hair out of his face before reaching for the quill, and glanced out of the side of his eye as Tom answered, "That it did. There is something about her, like I should _know her, _but I cannot explain it. Magic is odd in its way, and its intent is often incomprehensible."

Abraxas agreed. He could not help the curious flames licking at his blood, and, as he reread the words on his page on the different signs of death and how they could apply to any given situation, he murmured, "I have heard tales of the Wilds of Mor from childhood. Most wizarding families discard such things, but those of us with pure blood, those who know magic and its way, we have not forgotten. We will not turn our back on the Old Ways, not with the danger such an option presents."

_I have no desire to die an early death, least of all by magic-tempered steel and bone. _Abraxas handed his papers to Esras as the Prince Heir passed, and inclined his head in thanks before turning to his Lord and Master. He watched Tom work for some time in peace, content to watch as the Head Boy of Hogwarts, the idol of the students and adored by staff, worked steadily and without rest.

He was aware of Tom's nature, of how he was attuned to nature. That was one of the many reasons he was so strong, his magic reaching out for anyone who would open themselves to the raw energy coming off of him. Yet, unlike many with such power, Abraxas knew his friend could hide such power. He could temper it, pull it in, and make it seem like he was just an extraordinarily bright young man. Like he was doing now.

As he leaned back in his seat, a slow smirk gracing his face, the Malfoy Heir knew this were about to get interesting in Hogwarts.

He could taste the magic in the air.

**~.O.o.O.o.O.~**

_My name is Kira. _

She whispered the words in her head, wrote them on paper, and then burned them both. Hermi_ -_

_Kira, _she reminded herself. It was _Kira _who was idly flipping through the books on her bed, but the old name, _Hermione, _still echoed in the back of her mind. In the depths of her existence, she knew it was a name she would have to pull away from. If someone tried to break into her mind, if they somehow succeed and tore past the countless shields being woven into place even now, she knew her existence could be, would be, compromised.

It wasn't allowed. It couldn't be allowed. _There's too much at risk. Too many people at risk._

She never thought she would end up like this. She had always thought it would be Harry who would be doing the odd things, fighting through death twice and rising from the dead to end a war. She had always thought that, should _anyone _face Tom Riddle as a youth, it would be the one person who knew him the best. Deep within herself, she knew Harry would have tried to _heal _Tom. _Harry wasn't a warrior._

"He's just a kid," She whispered to herself as she left the dungeons. She knew Madam Pleimann would want to see her, but she knew it wasn't for the best. Running a hand through her hair, fingers catching on knots, she idly wondered what she was supposed to do. Yet there were other mysteries that lurked around _Alvane, _some of them blocked from her, and the only thing that bleed through was screams and flashing green lights and fire raining down from the sky.

As she turned into one of the halls on the first floor, she wasn't expecting someone to collide with her. Hands shot out, one arm wrapping around her forearm and the other around her waist, and another set on her shoulders. She stiffened, and slammed her magic down on the dam threatening to burst inside of her mind. The telltale sight of a headache bloomed, her temple throbbing, and she drew in a calming breath as her central gravity was righted. When she looked up, she was startled by the dark eyes and the green ties, before the boy in front of her inclined his head in greeting.

"Miss Kiran, it is good to see you. I was heading in your direction, actually." Kira blinked, and cocked her head to the side as she asked, "You were seeking me out? For what purpose?"

"Madam Pleimann has requested you for a checkup." Names whipped through her mind, and, as she eye the solemn woman next to her, the surname came to mind as she said, "Prince, correct? You spoke briefly with me at breakfast."

"Esras Prince, actually." The dark-haired male bore some resemblance to a Potion Master she knew, and her gaze slowly shifted to the female as Esras continued, "And this is my younger sister Eileen."

They were twins. She knew this witch was one of Snape's direct ancestors, his mother perhaps, and the two bore an uncanny resemblance. "I had been unaware that I had introduced myself at breakfast."

_Shit. _Kira merely narrowed her eyes in response, voice light as she said, "I had asked Albus. You were friendly, and were quick to smooth the discomfort."

The elder Prince nodded in understanding, and gestured her onward as he said, "It really is a shame that you did not come earlier, though I suspect Hogwarts is a stark contrast to your homeland if the legends are true."

Legends. Forests of darkness came to mind. Twisting jungles were dementors lurked rose unbidden. War. Death. Deceit. She looked away, and followed him down the hall. They were quiet for some time, neither speaking, and Eileen was a ghost that followed. She was a quiet girl, eyes always downcast, and Kira absently wondered if she had always been as such. A ghost lost to a bloodline that was as strict as it was dark. Lost, unable to find herself.

_Like loosing one life, and given a new name._

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**Ending Note**: I normally don't leave these, but at the end of the chapter...there was something I was trying to convey. The conflict between Hermione-Alvane, and the struggle of giving up _two _names for the middle. In any given situation, taking a new name would be hard. It takes time to adjust to, and it doesn't help when you have two mind-readers wondering around your school (one you live with, and the other your bloody teacher.) I'm loving the reviews, by the way, and the story...I was rather surprised on how many of you labeled it as dark. I do know that it will take a twist in that general direction, but I hand't thought it was there already. Hmm. Just gives me more to think about.

Anyway, some key points I would like to hear a bit about from my lovely reviews (thought not all of them...unless you truly feel like it):

- The struggle Hermione has giving up her name

- Abraxas's POV (first time writing him, you know)

- Likes/Dislikes

- _Kira's _interaction with Tom (see what I'm doing there?)

- Dumbledore's cryptic comment he said in front of Tom (he has a bad habit of that, doesn't he?)

- Anything else you feel like


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